Friday, June 30, 2006

the following is a exercise in the free flow of thought, while on drugs. dont expect it to all make sense, just take what you want, or nothing at all...

i am no play thing, though i am playful. not a thing to be played with or controlled.

are there strings? yes. But none that lead to your hands. They lead to my heart, to my soul. To my belief in knowing what is good. To my dream of a better world. To the childish (and for that reason so honest) belief in compassion. Like Pinochhio, i am lead by my disires - for better or worse.

I am puppet. I am a mechanical boy. i want to be a real boy. but like the tin man, the scarecrow & the lion i do not realise i already have what i want. but ironically, in order to realise it i must journey for it.

i am puppet cause i dont like the scars any more, the tarnished flesh of razor blades and cigarette butts. i am puppet now because i have come alive. i am half way there. a hurricane of emotion. i am puppet to remind me. because sometimes davey needs the help of a friend.

'i want to be a real boy' said pinochhio, and yet in so many ways he alreay was.

Mechanical boy. Full of gears & cogs. Sprockets & springs. Desires & machines. Desiring machines. As im sure both Deluze & Guttarri would agree: 'I' am but a aggregate of partial machines. Mini cellular machines, muscle machines, macro limbic machines. Hand machine connects to the arm machine connects to the chest machine. Child machine, develops from the womb machine of the mother machine. Puppet lives symbotically with the David machine. The symbosis interconnects. IT jam's & accelerates with the other machines that constitute the social body. We speak with your mecha language, we travel in automated objects. The world is full of machines! It is silly to imagine a non machine. Or even the completed machina, a machine that exists independant of other machines.

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To continue with the Deluze & Guttarri there is also Burifification. Burification (as i remember it from yr 12 chemestry): A chemical reaction that occurs only when two specific quantities of two differing chemicals are present at critical levels. The burification leads to the production of a new chemical compound.

We have experiences, they have little effect on the particular moment, but they accumulate. Some specific experiences interact with other differing experiences. Accumulation to critical point. Necessary quantities are reached & a qualitative change occurs. In one experience we change. A moment that should be as insignificant as the one before it & the one to follow - is NOT! Critical point is reached. We change. In one moment we fall in love. You and me burify into us. Me and the words on the page suddenly burify into knowledge within - 'wow! it finally makes sense!' Quantity becomes quantity, its almost dialectical baby, oh how karl marx would be proud.

I transform. Thesis, Anti-thesis, Synthesis. I move beyond, as do you. The future - our only promise, the great unknown! Man-Wolf-Machine. Always was a little coy, always was a little boy. I grow from standing on two legs to stand on four. My fur machine & my animalistic howl. I live in the night still. I sniff out the trouble. I eat meat, i devour. I've found my furry, or atleast one to begin with. This ink on my arm has sunk in deep. Its inceptor android overides my main frame. Enter Wolf-Puppet-Machine.

Puppet is a wolf, transformed not born. I seek out my pack. Run with be my baby, my friend, my brother. I would like to be with you. But let it be known - i have no fear of running about alone. Would you like to play? Some sharp eyed, mishchievious faun. Some koi boy, running down his arm. Some quirk star fly boy with yer paws all dirty from the club. I seek out my pack because i want them... to want you is a stronger thing than to need you. Equals. We speak, we fuck, we love. Kinship is ours to create. Fuck the idea of a kinship to conform to.

We're Interactionauts, baby. Travelling through the solar machinery. Desiring. Unbeknowestly transforming our chances into our destiny. The naieve actions of a puppet who trully is a real boy. In a moment i'll feel it...

in a past post i quoted the lyrics to cloudbusting. A song by Kate Bush. THe lyrics are quite beautiful but a little unusual to decipher. It seems to be about a son singing to his father who has left - possibly because he was conscripted into the war, or maybe a anarchist & trying to overthrow the state. Here is wikipedia's take on it:

"There was yet another song with a clear literary source: the hit single "Cloudbusting" was based on A Book Of Dreams by Peter Reich, son of the radical Freudian psychoanalyst and "orgone energy" researcher Wilhelm Reich, who built a "cloudbuster" machine in an attempt to control weather."

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

A tap in the bathroom is dripping. We feel guilty. Neither me nor justin or gary know how to change the washer. It seems like a simple thing. There are a ton of tools under the kitchen sink. Alas, just cant seem to figure it out. I ask gary about it. We decide to ask richard for assistance. He looks butch, we figure he'll know - right?

beannies & mittens. They are here. There. Everywhere. I've looked down to find them clasping my hands. They cradle my head as it tilts forward to take the cold breaze from my face. They console me, some little comfort against the cold. Small condolances, & remedial relief for some deceased season.

Lets not forget all the other reminders of the end of summer. Those little things that jear at our misfortune rather than protect against it. There are scarves - the hang mans noose. Layers upon layers of clothes perform a stylish mumification. Heaters? i'd perfer the furnace. We see our last breath evade our mouth in the morning air. Quickly beathe it in again before its too late. It is not Winter. It is the end of summer. Local swimming pools are mausoleums for the summer. And let us not forget the midnight dashes to the bathroom. Sheer murder.

Umbrellas are the worst. They are a totem for the coldness. Even during the summer - like the cough of a sick man, the sound punctures life. With our hands streched up we must accept the frailness of life - the need for sancutary. A hovel from the world. Either accept or be drenched to the bone. The fingers of the umberella Snap backwards. Jarring distortions. The metal bends. The fabric wears thin. Liquid trickles in through some unseen, never found, hole. It breaks. Dies. Blows back. just when you need it most.

Tears from heaven or maybe sickening laughter? We wear our black above our heads. With bands of dampness around our legs. Our hands are disfiugured. Semi-permanently raised is salute. Hail to the god of cold weather!

Thursday, June 15, 2006

I met La La at kooky. Was it easter? anzac? argh, it was a little while back.

So cute with his sleves all done up. It made me smile... so much. Bit his lip. His hand on my chest. we kept it up till the day break. Sent me a picture in the mail. I stuck it up at work. I dont know why. Maybe its a childish thing to do. Hes in melbourne. Im probably being silly. I'll probably see him again but it'll all be different. I can imagine his arms, me kissing him. His voice. Hes cute - i'll leave him up a little longer.

Hes my lullaby, even if nothing transpires more than this, its ok. I'll still sleep in peace.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

It's been a while scince i've had a good dance. Sure, i've been to dance parties - but to really dance? No. This babe wants to dance, to flirt, to smile & to fly.

Yeah babe - so what if i am an angel? What's it worth if i dont spead my wings?

My heart is fluttering. I dont know if its the drugs or the anticipation. Its a pillowfight in my chest. Soft beats & floating feathers. A frollic of angelic proportions. I'd put my bet on the drugs doing this to me.

I know im going to like tonight. Many friends will be there. Gaurentteed goodness of music. It will be a stuble nostalgia. Old faces. familiar sounds. Yet soo different.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

So im out in the pub & i bump into Sai. We're chatting & he mentions how he saw me dressed as a bunny at easter. He recited to me how his friends were a little put out by my costume - 'er, what?' kind of put out. He promptly told them he thought it was great. Thanks Sai.

The lyrics to cloudbusting. Please feel free to guess what they mean.

I still dream of Orgonon.I wake up crying.You're making rain,And you're just in reach,When you and sleep escape me.

You're like my yo-yoThat glowed in the dark.What made it specialMade it dangerous,So I bury itAnd forget.

But every time it rains,You're here in my head,Like the sun coming out--Ooh, I just know that something good is going to happen.And I don't know when,But just saying it could even make it happen.

On top of the world,Looking over the edge,You could see them coming.You looked too smallIn their big, black car,To be a threat to the men in power.

Sunday, June 04, 2006

So i was listenning to kate bush today. And for once i agree with emma - cloudbusting is better than running up that hill. But only just. ;) The song is how i feel at this moment - and i know something good is going to happen :)

Friday, June 02, 2006

i cant get this song out of my head - so i've decided to share it. Its a re-mix of Crockett's theme (words not in original version) of the neo.pop CD. dont know much more about it, but the words are true the the tune - very soap operaic. ;)

white linnen on your back, black secrets on your mind,a past you tried to hide,& a life you left behind.